Title: List of the Dead
Fandom/character: Dawn of the Dead (2004), Ana
Prompt: No. 15 – Blue
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: This is one of the first installments in a 100-story challenge from Live Journal. Much like my old college creative writing class, we are given 100 words and a topic and free reign to riff on them. Some of these stories will follow the movie canon, some won't; some will be long, some short; some may even follow in sequence. Ratings, timelines, tone will vary. They all will focus on Ana and the people around her. And on this one? Angst factor aside, didn't we all want Michael to survive?

It was the denim jacket that saved him.

In the frantic moments after Michael pulled her into the back of the truck, Ana could only catch her breath for an instant before she noticed the small, bloody rip within a clear, bloody mouth print on the sleeve of his jacket.

"Oh, no," she breathed, tugging at his left arm to get a better look.

"Fuck, I didn't even feel it." He started to shrug out of the light blue denim, resignation already in his expression.

The boat key forgotten, she twisted in his arms, immediately fumbling with the jacket's stiff cuff.

"No, Michael, not you," she said, her throat clenching as she tried to pull the cuff over his hand. "Please, please, please…"

The jacket had been her idea. Lying awake a few nights ago, she contemplated the deaths of Luda, Frank and that poor, unnamed old woman. They had all died of bites to their arms and hands, most likely inflicted while they were trying to fend off their attackers. Wouldn't it make sense to try to prevent that?

Then, just yesterday, Nicole had asked if she could make body armor for Chips since the dog was going into the midst of the monsters. The idea had immediately been shot down, but it had reminded Ana of her own thoughts.

Most everyone agreed it was a good idea, but, of course, when everything went to shit no one but her remembered to grab anything even remotely protective. Tucking the leather gloves she had picked out into the pocket of her new denim jacket, she wished she had made the time to get the same for Michael before he and the other guys had left for the sewers.

Absently, she touched her lips, remembering the feel of his kiss, the scratch of his stubble. It was dangerous, letting herself get close to him. She knew any of them could die, or worse, at any time, yet over their short weeks together her attraction to him had grown. The sudden thought of losing him made her sick to her stomach, so she hunted through the racks, finding a thick denim jacket and grabbing another pair of gloves on her way to check the basement door.

"Ana, it'll be okay," Michael said, trying to catch her arms.

"No, no, no, it won't!" On the verge of panic and fueled by the adrenaline of her escape she pushed the denim aside, jerking the cuff open and peeling the sleeve back before Michael had a chance to stop her. Cursing that the blue fabric blocked her view and terrified to see what it hid, she failed to notice Terry, Nicole and C.J. turning from watching their receding pursuers to watch her.

She fended off another of Michael's attempts to calm her, needing to see the damning bite she knew would take him from her. Luis, Tucker, Monica, Glenn… she knew within the next moments she would have to add Michael to her personal list of the dead. Add him with the knowledge that it was her fault. Her hands shaking, she examined his arm, finding not even a scrape.

"It's not his blood. Not his blood," she whispered, inspecting the denim and now seeing all the blood was on the outside. Lost in her own thoughts, she didn't hear Michael's own relieved huff.

"See, it's fine," he said, gently trying to get away from her vise-like grip.

She closed her eyes briefly. "It's okay. He's okay. Oh, thank you," she repeated, running her fingertips over his unbroken skin again and again to reassure herself, not stopping until she dimly realized Nicole was staring at her.

The girl looked down, a sad smile on her face, and rejoined Terry at the side window. Suddenly humiliated by her outburst, Ana released Michael's arm, afraid to look up at him.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I thought you'd been… you were…"

"I know," he said quietly, cupping her chin to force her to look at him. He watched her with an unreadable expression, his eyes black in the pre-dawn light. Caressing her cheek, he wiped away the tears she didn't even know were there. "Thank you."